The Flying Fox
by Maty12
Summary: The WWII/Bomber Pilot AU: In November of 1944 James Barkley, a fox, manages to complete his training and become a bomber pilot. The catch? He gets assigned to a squadron comprised solely of bunnies. Art for this story can be found on my deviantart (Just look for Maty12!)
1. Introductions

Well, it isn't much, but it's enough. Despite being on opposite sides of the room, the two beds took up most of the space. The very narrow passage between them led to a tiny nightstand with a desk lamp on it. It had only one drawer. Below the right bed, I could see a metal box, most likely filled with my future roommate (tentmate?)'s flight gear, and a large duffel bag. No harm in checking what's inside, right? I mean, I should know something about the mammal I'll be sharing a tent with for the foreseeable future. No, don't go there. Not your bag, don't touch it. The sound of someone clearing their throat brought me back to reality.

"Can I help you?" the voice sounded more curious than angry. I turned away from the bag I didn't notice I had been reaching for. The voice belonged to a bunny with blue eyes and tan fur, currently in uniform. Probably who I'll be sharing the tent with. Probably who the bag I was almost snooping through belongs to.

"Yeah, s-sorry, I uhm I didn't mean to…" Great start, man, just peachy. Take a deep breath, start over. "It's just that I just got here, and I figured I'd check out the place I'm gonna live in for the next few months. Let me start over: Lieutenant James Barkley, I'm assigned to aircraft 42-35407 as co-pilot." I said, reaching out for a pawshake. Said gesture was met with a snort, almost laughter

"Bucky O'Hare, assigned to aircraft 42-35407 as navigator." He mimicked as he shook my paw. "So you're the new guy, huh? Wasn't expecting a fox but eh, as long as you do your job well, I won't really bring it up."

"Thanks. I gotta say this is a far better welcome than I expected. Where are all the angry rabbits with pitchforks?"

"Oh, don't worry, you'll meet them. Needless to say, a lot of the guys here would probably shoot you if they weren't scared of being court-martialed." He said as he knelt down and pulled his bag from under the bed and opened it.

He began digging through his bag for something, and I stopped to think about what he said. I had a feeling that rabbits wouldn't be too happy about having a fox among them, but then why was he being nice to me? Well, not necessarily nice, but definitely not giving me the classic 'I hate you, please die' vibe.

"You look like you wanna ask something, so ask." Well that was straightforward. I'm starting to notice that he's kept a very calm tone this entire conversation.

"Uhm, well, if most of the guys here want to shoot me, how come you…"

"Don't? Let's just say I do research into anything I'm told is an 'unquestionable fact', and that includes a lot of stuff not just about preds, but about everything. Example: It was probably awful hard for you to get here, was it not? Yet if you just show up at an army booth, they give you a gun and tell you to 'go get 'em'. It's because they don't want a fox to do complicated tasks, they want you to join the army, go to the frontlines and die a quick death, so they have one less 'dangerous savage' in the world. It's the same reason they encourage us to join. They already tax us out of the city, but that still doesn't fully negate the fact that rabbits reproduce at a faster rate than any other mammal, so they send us out here, to die."

"That's uhm…that's a lot to take in."

Found the conspiracy theorist. Didn't think there'd be one in the Air Force, but apparently there is. Something's still kinda bugging me though.

"Hey, Bucky? If they're sending you here to die, then why did you join?"

He stopped messing with his bag and gave me a smirk.

"To piss them off. They want to send me out here to die? Well, what if I don't die? That sort of breaks their perfect little system, now doesn't it? Ah, here it is!"

He pulled out a carton of cigarettes and lit one, before offering it to me.

"Oh, uhm, I don't smoke."

He gave a quick chuckle.

"Trust me, after you've been up there, you're gonna want a smoke. Or a good bottle of scotch, which incidentally, I also have."

"I don't really drink either."

And now he was just plain laughing.

"You're really something else, foxy. Anyway, let's go." He said, getting up.

"Go, go where?" I asked, following him outside.

"I'd say it's about time you meet the rest of the crew. They're waiting by the old lady."

Old lady? Does he mean his wife? Do they let family stay here?

"The old lady?"

He stopped and I nearly bumped into him. He turned around before giving me a smile.

"The old lady, the giant metal bird, whatever you want to call 'er. I mean, we did come up with a few names: 'The Big Bad Doe', 'The Jackrabbit', we even talked about just writing 'Happy Easter' below the cockpit and drawing some egg-shaped bombs. Never really did any of that"

The walk was surprisingly long. I was expecting the plane to be parked along with the others behind the main taxiway, but instead it was sitting in a hangar on the opposite side of the runway. Well, the front half was, anyway, since the wings and tail were too big to fit inside it. As I slowly walked around, I took a good look at what I'd be flying for the next few months. Sure, I've seen these planes many times before, and had to fly them all the time during training, but they still amazed me. Despite being designed for relatively small mammals (rabbits), the plane was huge. The design was also incredibly sleek: It looked fast and flew fast. The body itself looked like a rocket, with a few gun turrets scattered across it and two massive bomb bays in the middle, while the gigantic engines were slung under the wings like massive talons, the two outer ones also hiding bomb bays of their own. The air intakes on the sides of the engines kinda looked like bear ears from the front, along with a much bigger one underneath for the oil cooler that made it look like the engine was smiling. The tailplane was particularly odd, having a shallow 'V' shape to it from both above and the front with a tailfin on each end.

"Where have you been, man? We've been waiting for almost an hour!" A voice caught my attention.

"Did you get the smokes?" Another chimed in.

I turned around to see Bucky talking to four other rabbits near the nose section. Three of them were standing up and one was sitting with his back on the left nose wheel. He tossed the pack of cigarettes onto the latter's lap, who quickly picked it up and lit one. His fur was white with some light gray spots around his eyes. The one standing closest to Bucky was cream colored and had brown eyes, while the one in the middle was shorter with completely white fur and the other one had a reddish-brown color to him and green eyes.

"So, how's the old girl?" Bucky asked.

"Cleared for flight operations, as of November 5th, 1944!" The rabbit with cream fur proudly said.

"We're thinking we call the skip and run some tests." Said the rabbit who was sitting, between puffs of smoke. "20 bucks says that engine's gonna start acting up the second they start shooting at us."

"Hey, lucky rabbit's feet, man, nothing bad can happen." Bucky responded.

"The rest of me is unlucky enough to drag all of you down too." The rabbit said, while nervously taking puffs of his cigarette.

"Then we'll just have to throw you out during the flight." Retorted the reddish-brown one, while crouching down to take one of the cigarettes. "Who knows? Maybe they'll shoot you instead of us."

"Real funny, Marty" He angrily stood up and climbed aboard the plane through the nose hatch. "Real funny."

Marty just shrugged and turned to Bucky.

"What took you, anyway?"

"Was talking to our new co-pilot." Bucky answered in his usual calm tone.

"Well I'll be damned! Plane's fixed and the replacement's here? We might be back in the flight board for tonight's raid!" The cream colored rabbit celebrated.

"Just in time, too. Been itching to shoot something; it's so boring down here." Marty added. "So when do we get to meet the new guy?"

Bucky gestured for me to come forward. As I stepped into the light, the mood seemed to drop pretty quickly. I couldn't quite tell what the looks on their faces were. Fear? Confusion? I could smell a hint of fear, but how much of that was just the normal reaction to seeing a fox? Bucky didn't seem to notice, or maybe pretended not to.

"Gentlemen, this is Lieutenant James Barkley, our new co-pilot." Bucky then gestured to the rabbit with reddish-brown fur. "Jimmy, this is Marty Grayson, our tail-end."

I reached out to shake his paw. He seemed a bit hesitant, but accepted it soon enough.

"That's Andy Hopkins, our radioman and top gunner." He said of the rabbit in white fur. Andy showed no hesitation whatsoever and just shook my paw.

"And this is Charlie McLeaps, our belly gunner."

Charlie immediately started shaking my paw up and down very quickly.

"A real live fox, this is amazing!" He's still shaking my paw, very excitedly, might I add. "Have you ever bitten anyone? Do you guys actually like eating bugs or just kinda accept it? What does fish taste like?"

"Woah, woah, that it a lot of questions in a very short amount of time. Can I get back to you on that?"

"Yeah, sure, no problem!"

I really had no idea how to react to this. Bucky seemed to pick up on that, at least.

"Charlie…"

"Yeah?"

"Can you let go of his paw?"

Charlie seemed to freeze for a moment. Did he not notice he was still shaking my paw?

"Sorry about that…" He deflated, finally letting go.

"The moody one is Eddie Aardvark, our bombardier." Bucky continued "Anyway, shall we?"

Bucky nodded towards the main entrance hatch, between the landing gear and the bottom turret.

The hatch left us in the middle of the radio room, one desk to each side. Behind that sat the turret control station for the top gunner, and further aft was a small compartment, taking up only the left half of the fuselage in width. This thing was built for high altitude, and since you can't keep a bomb bay pressurized they just added an airlock between it and the flight deck. We climbed forwards, sidestepping the two huge bumps on the floor, made necessary to accommodate the dual-tire nose gear. I couldn't help but notice that as big as these planes were on the outside, they were still incredibly small on the inside. I guess that's probably because it was designed for rabbits. Bucky walked up to the cockpit and sat on the pilot's seat. I sat in the co-pilot's seat.

"Okay, so first we're gonna test engine number 3 to see if they actually fixed it." He said, as he pulled out a checklist. We went through every item before finally engaging the starter. We could hear the inertia wheel spool up, and slowly the massive propeller began to rotate. As the engine started firing, I pushed the mixture lever all the way forward and the engine sprung to life. After making sure it would keep running, we proceeded with every test in the book. We moved every switch and lever to both extremes to check for drops in RPM and oil pressure, and the engine responded almost immediately. We then held her at full power for a little while and the noise was deafening. Still, the engine behaved exactly as it was supposed to: we couldn't find a thing wrong. After shutting off the engine we got up and were about ready to leave when the bombardier popped up from the nose. I honestly forgot he was even here.

"So, what have we got? Overheating? Choking? Oil leaks? Burnt booster coils? Manifold pressure too low? Too high? Fuel leaks? Turbocharger busted? Why is there a fox here, who the hell is this guy?"

Bucky chuckled a little before turning to him with a smile on his face and replying.

"I'm sorry to disappoint you, Eddie, but everything seems to be in working order. We'll be back in rotation by this time tomorrow. And this is James Barkley, by the way, he's our new co-pilot."

"Hey" I waved at him, but he just kinda stood there for a while. Then he just crawled back into the nose and jumped down the forward hatch. O-Okay then…?

"Don't worry about him. He's just a little… It's complicated. He's a good kit, wasn't really ready for any of this."

He then once again sidestepped the nose wheel "bumps", the radio equipment and the gunner's station, before stopping near the airlock.

"Hey, Charlie, we're all done up here! You wanna test the guns?" he shouted through the bomb bay.

"Yeah, just gotta fire up the put-put!" Came Charlie's reply, from the back of the plane.

"Put-put?" I wondered out loud.

"It's what we call the APU, y'know, that generator in the back?" Bucky explained.

"Oh"

"Anyway, our job here's done. What do you say we swing by mess hall to pick up something to eat?"

"Yeah, sure thing" I didn't even notice that I hadn't eaten all day

"I should probably warn you though, they don't have any meat. This is a bunny squadron after all."

I honestly did not think of that. Shit, I'm gonna have to spend months without meat. How bad can it be though?


	2. Briefing Time

After lunch, all the officers were ordered to report to the briefing room. I guess the tour of the base was gonna have to wait. The room wasn't too big, and almost every inch of it was covered with rabbits. A narrow passage separated the two rows of benches and led up to a stage where a map was propped up, along with a giant white screen. Bucky and I took our seats near the back, where Eddie and a grey rabbit were already sitting.

"What did we miss?" Bucky asked, keeping his voice low.

"Not much, just the briefing officer setting up" the rabbit replied, still looking straight ahead. "What about you, what were you up to?"

"Nothing much, met the new guy and we tested out the engines. Everything checks out, so we're about ready to go."

"That's good. New guy?"

"Lieutenant James Barkley. It's nice to meet you, sir." I offered my paw for him to shake. He took it without so much as looking at me and it took him about two seconds to notice that the paw he was shaking was more than twice as big as his. He turned to face me, his expression one of complete confusion for a second, before shrugging and smiling.

"Lieutenant William Hopper." He eventually said, before turning forward again.

A small black furred rabbit walked up to the podium and we all stood up to salute him.

"At ease." We all sat back down. I was not expecting such a deep voice. He signaled the guy at the projector to turn it on and a large aerial photograph of an airfield showed up.

"Gentlemen, we have reason to believe that the enemy is preparing for an attack. Troop movement was picked up 200 miles northeast of our position, where they have a small airfield. Lieutenant Hopps and his crew took this photograph during their patrol yesterday. As you can see, they have 8 medium bombers parked here, just south of the runway, as well as anti-aircraft emplacements everywhere in the surrounding area. Your mission is to take out the aircraft and place some nice big craters on that runway. Make sure they can't use it for anything else."

The rabbit at the projector proceeded to turn it off, the briefing officer bringing our attention to a map of Bunny Burrow and the surrounding areas, with a line of red string showing the planned route.

"Now, we'll be sending a flight of six aircraft on this mission. Takeoff will be at 1400 hours. You'll fly in at 20,000 following a heading of 0-4-0. Once you pass this mountain range, you will turn towards the target, heading 0-0-0. The Initial Point for your bomb run will be 10 minutes after that and you will drop your payload an additional 5 minutes later, at 1500 hours. At that point you will turn to a heading of 2-4-0, far enough from the IP to avoid any alerted enemy fighters. If the weather remains clear, you should land right back here at around 1600 hours. No fighter opposition is expected, but intelligence reports mention light to moderate flak. Any questions?"

A rabbit at the front raised his hand.

"Yes, you, stand up."

"Well, sir, at that altitude we'll be easy targets, can't we go in any higher? Last time we flew in at 30,000!"

"Last time you also missed the target by half a mile. This is a purely strategic decision: a lower altitude will mean improved accuracy. What we do here is _precision_ _bombing_ , gentlemen, emphasis on _precision_. What's the point of loading these state of the art planes up with gallons of fuel and highly expensive explosives if you can't even hit the target? Any further questions? None? Great. Now, the flight crews selected for this mission are: Grey, Hopps, Bushman, Dice, Nelson and Hopper. Grey, you're flying lead, Hopps, you're second lead. Dismissed."

When briefing was done, we walked out to the main taxiway. The plane had already been moved from the hangar and currently sat at the end of the flight line. The rest of the crew joined us soon after.

"So what are we looking at?" Marty asked.

"Small airfield northeast of here, flight of six. No fighters, light to moderate flak. Total milk run, we should be back in around 2 hours." Was Bucky's reply.

"So what's the catch?"

"The catch is that we'll be flying a bit lower than usual, at only 20,000 ft." Hopper explained.

"They keep sending us in lower and lower! It's almost like they _want_ us to get hit!" Eddie was not too happy.

"Well, according to Bucky they do. According to our 'friendly neighborhood briefing officer', it's so that we actually _hit_ the target instead of just sprinkling bombs all over the place." Hopper explained.

"Yeah, right" Eddie said with a snort.

"Oh, but it's _'purely strategic'._ 'It'll _improve our accuracy_ ' he says, ' _precision bombing,_ gentlemen _,_ emphasis on _precision'!_ " Bucky mocked.

"Think about it this way, Eddie: By sending us in lower, they're making it easier for you to hit the target. And if you hit the stupid target, they won't send us back there again. Now, can we go?"

"Yeah, yeah, whatever…"

Eddie, Bucky, Andy, Hopper and I climbed up through the main hatch. While their stations were in the nose, it wasn't exactly the safest place to be during takeoff, so instead Eddie sat at the desk to the right of the escape hatch, while Bucky took the small swing-out seat just behind the cockpit. The plane was set up in such a way that, in order to reach the nose, you'd have to push the co-pilot's seat (A.K.A. my seat) back and crawl through the small opening to the right of the instrument panel. On the bright side, this meant that I could push my seat further back, which let me sit much more comfortably and actually stretch instead of crouching over the control column so as to not hit my head on the roof. Andy took his seat to the left of the hatch, beginning to test the radio equipment as Hopper and I went through the checklist.

"You ready for this?" He asked me.

"As ready as I'll ever be."

"Good. Start her up."


	3. What Could Go Wrong?

As we finished our turn towards the target, the plane suddenly jolted as a loud noise came from the right side.

"What was that?" Eddie asked.

I looked out the window and, to my shock, saw engine number 3's propeller sitting almost perfectly still.

"Uhm, sir? I think we just lost number 3." Hopper checked the gauges briefly before shrugging it off.

"So we have. Sometimes it does that. Try to start it back up"

I must have repeated the procedures to restart the engine at least five times, but the it refused to start. With how thin the air was at this altitude, it'd be a wonder if it actually did.

"Well, shit. Looks like we're gonna have to have a talk with our field mechanic."

As I feathered the engine and cut its fuel supply, Eddie's voice came on in the intercom:

"Called it! I freaking called it! Bucky, you owe me 20 bucks, you son of a bitch!"

"I don't remember actually agreeing to that."

"Like hell you didn't, you said nothing bad could happen!"

"And how exactly does me saying that mean that I'm taking the bet?"

"Well, you didn't say you _weren't_ taking the bet."

"I don't feel like arguing, so fine, I guess I took the bet."

"Great, where's my money?"

"You still don't get any money."

"Why the hell not? I won fair and square!"

"You said, and I quote, 'that engine's gonna start acting up the minute we start getting shot at', and seeing as we're _not_ getting shot at, I don't think I owe you anything. Actually, I'm pretty sure that means _you_ owe _me_ money, seeing as the engine has already died."

"He's got you there, Eddie!" Charlie's voice came on the intercom. I could hear Marty laughing in the background.

"Wait, what?"

"But I'm willing to call it off if you are."

"Wait, no, this…Ugh…This is _exactly_ why I don't talk to you, Bucky, you always have to be right about everything!"

"So you're admitting I'm right?"

"No, I'm…God dammit, Bucky!"

"You still haven't told me whether you want to call off the bet or not."

"If anyone's interested, I hate Lieutenant Bucky O'Hare, serial number 09811-"

"852. That's not really news to anyone, Eddie. So, are we calling off the bet or…?"

"Yes, we're calling off the bet."

"Pleasure doing business with you."

"Go to hell."

"I would but we don't have enough fuel for that. Speaking of which, are we gonna head back, Skip?"

"I don't see why we would, we've still got three working engines and brought a light fuel load, I don't think we're gonna have any problem keeping her flying."

"Wait, what?" Eddie rejoined the conversation.

"Jimmy, you think you can keep her in the air?"

"Yeah, I think I can handle it." I replied.

He was right, this thing does still perform pretty well on three engines and since it's such a short mission the plane is very light on fuel: it was very responsive and maneuverable.

"We should turn the hell back!" Clearly Eddie disagreed.

"Eddie, there's really no need to-"

"Don't Eddie me, let's turn the hell back!"

"Like I said before, if we don't hit the stupid target we're just gonna have to come back here again. And by the time we _do_ come back they'll have more stuff to throw at us."

"They still got five other planes without us, don't you think they can hit the damn target?"

"And what if they don't? Look, I'm still the commanding officer of this aircraft, and I say we're staying on mission. You got a problem with that, you file a formal complaint to the squadron. Bucky, don't let him drop the bombs until we're over the target."

"Yes, sir." Bucky acknowledged.

"Good. Andy, notify squadron lead that we are damaged and unable to maintain formation, but will proceed with the mission. Now, we are still missing an engine. Barkley, how fast can we go?"

"Well, sir, if we set the engines to 93% we can keep up with the formation, but we'll be really pushing them and if we keep the current setting, we'll be about 60 miles too slow. I recommend 85% power, we'll fall behind a bit, but at least we won't risk over revving the engines."

"85%, what speed does that leave us at?"

"220, sir."

"Alright, that could work. Bucky, can you give us an ETA?"

"Let me see…with 220 that leaves us…Around 11 minutes until the IP, then a little over 5 and a half minutes until the drop point. Problem is that by then we'll be over a minute behind the formation. They'll know we're coming. It doesn't give them time to scramble any fighters, but they'll have their AA guns ready."

"Great, just great!" Eddie voiced his reluctance.

"Okay, fellas, get ready on those turrets. Just because there aren't supposed to be any fighters doesn't mean there won't be."

Andy moved from his seat at the radio desk to the turret sighting station. All of the 4 turrets were remotely operated. Oddly enough, while the top turret was behind the bomb bay, the sighting station was up front, complete with a big plexiglas dome and a periscope, while the belly turret that was just below said station was controlled from behind the wing. The tail and nose turrets were the exception, with the controls being just inches from each. The nose turret was pretty much left unused, since Bucky was busy with the maps and Eddie had to be ready on the bombsight. I presumed everyone else took their stations. Not much happened in the next few minutes. In fact, the plane fell completely silent with the exception of the roar of the engines and the occasional whirring of the turrets as Andy, Charlie and Marty scanned the skies for targets. Bucky cut through said silence:

"IP, I repeat, IP. 5 minutes and 30 seconds to target."

"Roger that, Bucky." Hopper acknowledged before messing with a few switches on the autopilot panel "Pilot to bombardier, you have control, over."

"Bombardier to pilot, I have control." The anger was gone from Eddie's voice, replaced by fatigue. From then until the target, he would be controlling the plane through the small knobs on his bombsight. "Opening bomb bay doors."

The incredibly loud hydraulics drowned out everything else as they pushed open the massive doors that covered each one of the four bays, including the ones on the outer engines. As soon as the doors were fully open big puffs of black smoke started to fill the sky.

"Looks like they've seen us coming!" Charlie remarked.

"Yeah…Or maybe they saw the other five planes before us. Y'know, the ones that dropped bombs on them?" Was Bucky's reply.

While at first they were sporadic, the puffs were growing closer and closer to hitting us with each passing moment. One burst near the left wingtip rocked the plane to the side before the autopilot brought it back.

"Guess they've figured out our altitude too! This day just keeps getting better and better!" Eddie said to himself, laughing nervously.

"2 minutes!" Bucky called out.

"We're almost there, just keep your eyes on the gauges. I'm gonna need you to push her to full power the second those bombs leave the plane. Staring at the flak won't make it go away." Hopper advised.

He did have a point. Though _not_ staring at the flak did still leave the plane shaking from each deafening blast.

"30 seconds!" Bucky called out again.

"Almost there…" Eddie said, still glued to the bombsight from what I could see. "Almost got it…"

A few seconds felt like a lifetime until Eddie cut in again:

"There you are!" He said, before flipping a small switch on the panel to his left. We could hear wave after wave of bombs drop until the bays were finally empty. "Bombardier to pilot, bombs are away, you have control."

"Roger, I have control." Hopper said, before flicking off the autopilot. "You ready for this?"

I nodded and pushed the plane to full power as Hopper started to turn it. The roar from the engines was remarkably loud now and we knew we couldn't keep it that way much longer, or we'd risk damaging them.

"Bucky, can I get a heading?" Hopper asked.

"Turn to a heading of 2-4-0, should lead us straight back home."

There was once again a loud noise as the hydraulics closed the massive doors. Flak was still surrounding the plane, but at least we were now heading home. Bucky was right, it was a total milk run.

"We better throttle back a little bit." Hopper advised, after checking the temperature gauges. You could only keep her at full power for 5 minutes before the engines cut out, and in even less time you'd already have some serious damage.

As I reached for the throttles, a shell exploded right in front of the cockpit. Shrapnel tore through the windshield and went everywhere, a piece missing my head by no more than an inch!

"That was a close one, huh?" I commented to Hopper, still doing my best to stay focused on the gauges. "Hopper?"

I turned to see Hopper clutching his right shoulder, a piece of shrapnel the size of my ear sticking out of it, pinning him to the seat.

"Shit! Hopper's hit! Andy, get the medkit!"

"Dive." Hopper managed to say.

"What?" Oh, shit, this thing's pressurized! Well, _was_ pressurized. "Everyone put on your oxygen masks and hold on tight!" I said over the intercom, before pushing the column forward and putting us into a rather steep dive. I needed to get the plane below 10,000 and _fast_ , before we lost all heat and cabin pressure. Soon enough, Andy showed up with some morphine and a few bandages, clearly struggling to walk considering the plane's current attitude. He then grabbed my left paw and placed it on Hopper's wound, around the shrapnel.

"As soon as I pull it out, I'm gonna need you to apply a lot of pressure to the area!" I'm pretty sure that was the first time I ever heard him speak. I nodded. "Alright, 1, 2, 3!" He shouted as he pulled out the piece of shrapnel and I moved to cover the wound. I could feel the blood starting to cover my paw. Andy returned and moved my paw away as he bandaged up the wound, all while the airplane was still dropping _fast_ , clocking in at almost 400! The needles on the altitude gauge were spinning too quickly. I started to pull out of the climb when it indicated 10,000, eventually managing to level out at around 9,000 ft. At this point it was safe to breathe the air, but it would soon get pretty cold inside the plane. Metal can freeze to the touch up here, so I asked Andy to go through our bags and get our gloves and boots. They were part of the uniform, we just didn't like wearing them. The good thing about our sudden plunge was that it completely threw off the anti-aircraft guns, as well as cutting down on our flight time.

"Hopper, you okay?" I asked, the adrenaline starting to wear off.

"Yeah, I'm… I'm just peachy." From the sound of it, the morphine was doing its job. "How are you?"

I couldn't help but chuckle at that.

"Alright, everyone, I'm gonna need a damage report." I figured I should take charge since Hopper was clearly in no position to do so. Bucky's voice was the first one to respond:

"Well, everything's shot up pretty bad down here and I think you scared Eddie half to death with that dive, but we're uninjured."

"Right. Sorry, Eddie. Charlie, Marty, what about you?"

"We're doing fine, boss. There's no damage back here, so we've still got heating." Charlie replied.

"Roger that. Bucky, how far 'til the Burrows?"

"Uh, with that sudden plunge and at 9,000 ft? Should be around 55 minutes, 60 tops."

"Okay. Maybe you guys should stay in the back where there's heating. Oh, and take Hopper with you, he's not looking too good."

"Won't that make the plane too tail-heavy?"

"Nothing I can't handle. Just be sure to get back in position when we start the approach."

"Yes, sir."

I don't think I've ever been called 'sir' before in my life, feels pretty weird. Then again, what about my current situation is normal?

"Oh, and someone please get on the fuel transfer pump, we've still got a lot of fuel on the right wing that's not going anywhere since number 3 died."

"I got it." Andy volunteered. "Bucky, help me carry Hopper to the back."

And so I was alone in the front of the plane. I guess the upside to being four times as heavy as a bunny is that it's not really hard to keep the plane balanced, even if they were all in the back. I turned on the autopilot briefly as I went to put on my boots and gloves. Kinda wish I was wearing these earlier, getting these bloodstains out of my fur is something I'm not looking forward to.

For 45 minutes or so there was _almost_ complete silence. I say 'almost _'_ due to the howling of the wind as it passed through the holes in the windshield. That and the sound of Bucky occasionally calling out ETAs or suggesting a heading change until finally the airfield came into sight near the horizon.

"Alright, boys, there's Harrington AFB, get back to your stations. Andy, notify them of our situation."

"On it."

Andy started to tinker with the radio as Eddie took the seat to the right of the escape hatch and Bucky once again sat in the small swing-out seat just behind the cockpit.

"Harrison tower, this is 42-35407, we have a dead engine and a wounded pilot, along with a busted pressurization system, awaiting instructions, over."

"42-35407, this is Harrison tower. Fly straight in, we'll have an ambulance and firetrucks standing by at the edge of the runway. Good luck, boys."

"Alright, let's do this." I pushed the gear lever down, the plane filling with noise as the hydraulics lowered the gigantic landing gear. The indicator showed all three were down & locked. I lowered the flaps 10 degrees at a time as we bled off our speed, so that they wouldn't jam. A few hundred feet from the threshold and every item on the checklist had already been checked & rechecked. I tried whistling to ease my nerves, but I'm not too sure how much it helped. I hoped we still had enough power to go around if anything went wrong.

The needle in the airspeed gauge gradually slowed until it reached 130: our landing speed. It was now or never. I started to flare out so that the main wheels touched down first. The right wing dropped a little and I reacted instantly. A little too much, actually, as the left wing now dropped, its massive tires hitting the ground hard, quickly followed by the right ones. The plane shook like crazy. As we got below 90, I gently lowered the nose. As soon as it touched down, I turned off the safety switches for the propellers and put them into reverse, the plane veering left due to the uneven thrust and quickly bringing itself to a stop halfway down the runway. I pushed the propeller switches back into their normal position before taxiing onto the ramp, cutting the engine and finishing the checklist. At this point, I was panting heavily and just about covered in sweat. Talk about an adrenaline rush. I turned around to see a very similar expression on everyone's faces. It was then that a realization dawned on me: We made it. We actually made it. I couldn't help but laugh (and maybe cry a little), and soon enough the rest of the crew followed suit, a round of woohoo's and cheering starting shortly afterward. I then heard Hopper's voice on the intercom:

"Wasn't the smoothest landing, kid, but it'll do. Now let's get the fuck out of here. I could use a drink."

The ambulance came soon enough to pick up Hopper and he was reluctantly taken to the infirmary to get his shoulder properly looked at. He told us to celebrate for him before asking Bucky for a pack of cigarettes. Like I said before, I don't drink, but after today, I think I might need something.


	4. About a Girl

"Look at that guy!" Bucky said, watching some guy at the bar proudly talking to a girl who seemed like she couldn't care less what he had to say. "How does he not get that she's not into him? She's given every clue! Hell, she's not even _looking_ at him anymore!"

"That's kinda sad, actually. She looks so bored."

"That, my friend, is the price of being female in a mostly male military base. Some guys in here are so desperate they're willing to do anything if it means they get their two minutes."

"Two minutes? Now _that_ is sad."

"Yeah, it most certainly is." Bucky said with a chuckle "You haven't had a chance to check out the infirmary, have you?"

"Can't say that I have. I mean, I plan on visiting Hopper there, so I suppose I'll check it out soon enough. Why?"

" _That_ , my friend, is where it gets really sad. I've heard of a guy who keeps getting himself shot up just so he can keep going there and looking at the _'pretty does'._ "

"That…That can't be real. Can it?"

"Oh, it is. It's very real. Well, I guess you'll see for yourself soon enough. Who knows? Maybe a few weeks from now it'll be _you_ getting shot up just to get some female attention."

"Not even if they had the prettiest vixen on the planet."

"They don't have vixens."

"What do you mean?"

"They don't have vixen nurses. How do I put this? You know how most mammals aren't exactly comfortable being around preds in the first place? They're not too fond of having a pred near their open wound either. They think the sight of blood will make them go savage or something."

"That's the stupidest thing I've ever heard!"

"I got a feeling you'll be saying that an awful lot while you're stationed here…"

We sat there in silence for a while, before Bucky turned towards the bar again. Sure enough, the pair we commented on was still there: The girl who badly looked like she wanted to leave and the clueless guy talking her ear off.

"Are you kidding me? He's _still_ there!" I pointed out.

"Eh, it's the way things are. Not like anyone'd do anything about it."

"Maybe someone _should_."

I stood up, finished my beer and started walking towards them. I then poked the guy on the shoulder.

"Hey, man, can I borrow her for a second?"

If glares could kill, I'd be dead right now.

"Foxy, can't you see the _civilized_ mammals are talking? Why don't you go back to the jungle?"

"I'm from _Tundra Town_ , actually..."

"Good for you, man! Now, hop along."

Okay, this guy's a total asshole. I took a deep breath before continuing:

"Look, man, she really doesn't seem interested in what you have to say, so why don't you just leave her alone?"

"Tell you what: How about you leave _us_ alone for now. You can eat her after I'm done or whatever."

"Get ready to run." The doe whispered to me, finishing her beer.

"Excuse me?" What did she mean by that?

"HEY, I'm talking to _you_ , fox boy!" He said, jamming a finger on my chest. Does he _seriously_ think he looks intimidating?

"Look, I don't wanna start anything, so how about you just leave the girl alone and we drop this?"

"Start anything? Ah, that's _priceless_! You can't touch me, _chomper_ , otherwise you can look forward to a nice court-martial!"

"Why would _I_ be the one being court-martialed? _You're_ the one trying to start a fight!"

"Yeah, duh!" He rolled his eyes "But who do you think they're gonna believe? A civilized officer or a filthy, shifty, no good f-"

Before he could finish the sentence, the doe punched him straight in the face. He fell to the ground and hit his head on the floor _hard_.

"RUN!" She shouted before darting out toward the door. As soon as I realized what just happened, I ran out the door as well.

I caught up with her outside, both of us still running. I had no clue as to where we were going, but it didn't really matter either.

"I'm sorry about all this!" I managed to say, while panting.

"Don't be! I've wanted to do that _all night_. You, sir, just happened to give me the perfect excuse!" She said, smiling.

"Uhm, okay? But won't you get in trouble? I mean you just punched an officer _in the_ _face!_ "

"I'm a civilian, they can't court-martial me!"

"You can still go to jail, though!"

"The guy's been harassing me all night. Besides, I'm pretty sure a prick like him would be too ashamed to admit that he got knocked out by such a _'sweet little doe'!_ "

"That…actually makes a lot of sense. Can I just ask…why…we're still...running?"

She stopped almost immediately. I used that time to catch my breath.

"I thought foxes were great runners?"

"Just…in short…sprints…not…long range."

We looked at each other and before bursting into laughter.

"I don't think you ever told me your name, Lieutenant."

"It's James…James Barkley. And you are?"

"Maggie. Maggie Hopkins."


	5. Late Night Talk

"So, if you're a civilian, what exactly were you doing in the officers' club? It's not like they just let anyone in…"

"Are you implying that I'm 'just anyone'?"

"No! No, not at all! I just meant that…" She broke out in laughter before I could even finish the sentence.

"I'm just messing with you. I'm actually on the PR side of things: film and photography. I film whatever's happening out here and show it to the folks back home. Officers' club privileges sort of come with the job. It's always funny to rub that in Andy's face."

"Andy?"

"My brother, Andy Hopkins. He's stationed here too, but he's a gunner, so not an officer, meaning no access to the club. You know him?"

"Yeah, he's my radio operator."

"The quiet kit becomes the radio operator. Kinda funny, isn't it?"

"So he's like that around you too?"

"He's pretty much always like that. I think it just tires him."

"What does?"

"Talking, pretty much interacting with others in general. He likes having some time alone. Says he needs it to 'recharge' or something like that."

"I…I know what that's like. Don't really care for crowds that much either." Does explain a lot about Andy. Guess we're more similar than I thought. "Hey, Maggie?"

"Yeah?"

"If you don't mind me asking: why here? Of all places, why the base less than ten miles from Bunny Burrow?"

"Why not here?"

"Well, why not the frontlines or something like that? I can't exactly imagine anyone'd be excited to watch planes just taking off and landing again…"

"Well, that's where you're wrong. Formation take offs always seem to get people excited. As for landings, just today I filmed a rather dramatic landing with a plane coming in on three engines!"

"You were filming that?"

"Of course! I had quite a nice view from the balcony of the control tower. I tried rushing over there to film the aftermath, but let's just say you're not the only one who can't run long distance…Why do you ask?"

"Because I'd very much like to know what my landing looked like from outside the cockpit."

Her face shifted into a mix of surprise and admiration.

"That was you!? Wow, so you're a pilot then!"

"Well, yeah, what did you think I was?"

"I…I didn't really give it much thought…But this is perfect! I get to cover the first fox to make it into the Air Force!"

"Am I…Am I really the first one to do that? It doesn't seem like it'd be such a big deal…"

"Well, have you heard of any _other_ foxes in the Air Force?"

"No…"

"Then there you have it!"

"That's…That's pretty cool, actually."

James Barkley, first fox Air Force pilot. Who would have thought?

Maggie and I kept walking in silence for a while. It wasn't an awkward silence, but more of the 'nothing really needed to be said' type. Since we were already near it anyway, I figured I'd show Maggie the plane: she'd now have all the time in the world to document it. We climbed inside and sat just behind the cockpit, our backs on the armored bulkhead that lead to it and our legs resting on the landing gear 'bumps'.

"So, what happened anyway?" She eventually said, before sliding down so that her back rested on the 'bump' instead. "To the plane, I mean."

"Don't really know." I said, sliding down in a similar manner. "Number 3 just sort of died before we were anywhere near the target."

"So I was right, then! I knew it couldn't have been battle damage: No bullet holes or burn marks anywhere near that engine! And seeing as how you arrived after everyone else, I gather you didn't abort the mission, did you?"

"No, we just kept going, dropped the bombs and turned around. Then Hopper got hit and we lost cabin pressure. I managed to lose 11,000 ft of altitude in less than a minute!"

"That's really something else…How fast were you going?"

"Managed to reach 400 before pulling up." I couldn't exactly keep the pride from my voice. She let out a respectful whistle.

"400? Didn't know they could go that fast, even in a dive. Well, at least not without, you know…"

"The controls locking and the plane beginning to shake itself apart?"

"Right, that. So…you flew the plane all the way back?"

"Pretty much. Wasn't too hard to keep her in the air. Only problem was we lost all heating in the front. I had to send everyone else to the back so they didn't get hypothermia or something like that."

"So almost no heating at 10,000 ft? That sounds pretty bad…"

"Eh, I'm used to the cold."

"Tundra Town, right?"

"Yeah. Surprised you remembered."

"What can I say? I'm a good listener."

"Not too bad at punching either."

"Oh, that? Trust me, that was nothing, I could do way worse. Maybe someday I'll show you if we run into an even bigger asshole outside of military property."

"I'd like that."

She sat up rather suddenly with a troubled expression on her face.

"Hey, James?"

"Yeah?"

"Why are you here?"

"Well, I just figured you'd like to see the plane..."

"No, I mean why are you _here_ , in Bunny Burrow? Not exactly a normal place to find a fox in."

"It's a long story…For now let's just call it an unforeseen side effect of how I got into the Air Force."

"Oh… How did you get into the Air Force?"

"Can we not talk about that?"

"Sorry... I've been told I ask too many questions."

"No, it's fine, it's just… I don't really want to talk about that right now."

"Okay."

We then went back to silence. I lied there staring at the stars through the small escape hatch on the roof, my mind beginning to wander, and hers…well I'm not too sure about hers. She seemed lost in thought. Eventually those thoughts became words:

"James?"

"Yeah…?"

"Would you like to see that footage I told you about?"

Maggie took me to where she was staying. Her tent was very far from mine, but otherwise identical save for the movie projector pointed towards one of the 'walls'. She apologized for getting me excited about seeing my landing, as she had yet to get today's film developed. She put in another roll instead and countless images began to appear on the tent wall. The subject matter varied from flybys to formation takeoffs to just plain day to day life. Crews chatting during their time off, having lunch together, celebrating a successful mission, pretty much just living.

"Hey, Maggie?"

"Yes?" She asked, her eyes still glued to the images on the screen.

"Why did you film all of this? I mean, I get the landings and the action and everything, but why everything else?"

She seemed to pause for a few seconds.

"Promise you won't laugh?" Not exactly a reply I was expecting.

"I promise."

"It's just…I don't know. My life isn't exactly that exciting and…sometimes I feel like everyone but me's out having great adventures…I guess seeing stuff like this just helps me remember…"

"Remember what?"

She took a deep breath before continuing.

"That life isn't just about the big moments. It's not about the adventures. It's about the little things, about the time we spend just lying around or sharing a meal or just listening to the radio. And it's about who you do those things with."

We sat in silence again, the only noise being that of the projector whirring as the images on the wall moved around and changed. Maggie seemed to blush a little.

"Sorry about that. I guess I went a little overboard, Didn't I? My friends always tell me that I have a tendency to make things too dramatic."

"I think what you said was beautiful."

"Really?" A smile began to form on her face and I could swear there was a twinkle in her eyes.

"Absolutely. And don't ever let anyone tell you otherwise."

Maggie and I talked for a while longer and I didn't notice how late it was until she fell asleep. I stopped the projector for her and started the long walk back to my tent. By the time I got there, I could barely keep my eyes open. The light was off and Bucky was already fast asleep, so I did my best not to wake him up as I climbed onto my bed. It's been a really long day and I couldn't be happier to get some rest.


	6. Sleep? What Sleep?

A very loud sound woke me up. It took a moment for my very tired brain to realize it was simply the wake-up call. Shit, how late did I get here last night?

"Morning, sleepyhead." Bucky quipped as he buttoned up his jacket.

"What time is it?" I very groggily asked.

"Time for _you_ to get a watch! Sorry, couldn't resist. It's five in the morning."

"How does 5 AM count as morning?"

"It does in the Air Force, thought you'd know that by now."

"I do know, it's just that…Ugh... my head hurts."

"A little hungover, maybe?"

"I barely drank last night, I just didn't get enough sleep. Speaking of which, how come you're so chipper?"

"Well, I didn't drink that much either and I got up over half an hour ago."

"Why…?"

"Because I find it a lot better than being woken up my trumpets."

"…Fair enough…"

I tried sitting up, but the pain in my head seemed to get a hundred times worse when I did. Bucky seemed to notice my discomfort.

"Jeez, when did you get back last night?"

"I don't know either…Maybe I should get a watch."

"Maybe. What did you do, anyway? I look away for one second and you're gone!"

"Yeah, sorry about that…Maggie punched that guy in the face and we had to make a run for it."

"Maggie, huh? The girl from the bar? Didn't peg you for a prey chaser, Barkley. Not judging though."

"No, it wasn't anything like that."

"Like what?"

"Like _that_ , we just sort of talked for a while. I took her to the plane and she showed me some stuff.."

"What kind of stuff?"

"Just some stuff she filmed. She works in the PR department so she needs footage of what we're doing out here."

"Oh, so that was Andy's sister then!"

"Yeah…? Shouldn't you like, know that?"

"Man, Andy's never even shown us a picture of her."

"But…doesn't she work here?"

"Well, I guess she does now. He did say she was looking to transfer to Harrington. Closer to home, I suppose. She must have flown in yesterday. I'll bet you Andy knew. He's just not too fond of the idea of a bunch of guys drooling over his sister. Then again, I don't think anyone is."

I eventually did get up and get dressed. My luggage had finally arrived, so that was nice. I didn't really bring too much stuff, mostly just drawing supplies and a few clean shirts. The plane's not fixed yet (for obvious reasons), so we're not on the flight board today. Guess that means I have the day all to myself. I could probably take some pencils and paper and try to draw the plane, maybe check in on the mechanics while I'm at it. Of course, first things first: I needed to get some breakfast. Bucky had told me that it was first come first served, so I rushed over to the mess hall, my head still hurting like hell. Maybe some food would help.


	7. Breakfast at Harrington

Well, they may not have meat, but at least they serve eggs. Eggs and that essential life-giving elixir: coffee. Sweet, sweet coffee. I found everyone sitting at the same table, except for Hopper, who was still in the field hospital. I sat down as well, carrying with me a tray with a cheese and tomato omelet and a cup of coffee.

"Not hungry?" Bucky asked, looking at my plate.

"Starving, why?"

"You barely got anything…"

"Are you kidding me? This is almost too much!"

"Wait, aren't you supposed to eat more than us? Cause you're, y'know…bigger?"

"Foxes eat a lot less than us due to a slower metabolism." Charlie joined in, as chipper as ever.

"That's…neat, I guess?" I replied.

"You still owe me a round of questions, by the way."

"What?"

"Yesterday, I asked you some things and you told me you'd get back to me later."

"Oh, right…that."

"Can you guys keep it down, please?" Marty very groggily asked, briefly lifting his head from the table.

"Someone's hungover…" I proceeded to point out the obvious.

"Yeah, Marty and booze don't go well together." Charlie explained. "Speaking of booze, where's Eddie?"

I didn't even notice he wasn't here.

"Without Hopper to wake him up? Most likely still trying to sleep off the hangover." Bucky answered. "He'll probably show up at around noon."

"Yeah, probably." Charlie said, taking a sip of coffee. "So, what will we do today? We got the day off, don't we?"

"Get a jeep, drive to Bunny Burrow, meet some girls and get some drinks." Marty mumbled, face still glued to the table.

"I don't think it's wise to let either you or Eddie near alcohol anytime soon…Y'know, hangovers usually make people want to _stay away_ from drinking, not drink more…" Bucky explained.

"You know a better way of curing a hangover than getting drunk?"

"Coffee usually helps…"

"Nah, I like my idea better. But if you insist, we can skip the drinks and just find some girls."

"I have a girl and we're quite happy, thank you very much."

"The rest of us don't."

"Hopper's married."

"Well he's not here, is he? Besides, that still leaves me, Eddie, Andy, Charlie and foxy over here."

"I don't know, I think Jimmy found himself a girl last night."

"Is that so? Foxy found himself a vixen?"

"No, but he did leave with Andy's sister."

"Yeah, right, good one, Bucky." Andy finally joined the conversation. "My sister's not a preddo."

"I didn't say they hooked up, now did I? I just said they left together."

Mart burst out laughing not a second later, so loud it almost hurt my ears. He barely even looked awake a second ago, what the hell just happened?

"That's just sheer what-do-you-call-it!" He managed to say after finally calming down a little bit.

"Sophistry." Charlie offered.

"Right, sophistry. You're learning, Bucky…I'm so proud." He said, wiping a nonexistent tear from his eye. "They grow up so fast…"


	8. What Does The Fox Say?

Before we could actually go out and get a jeep, we had to wake up Eddie. His and Hopper's tent was just in front of mine and Bucky's. We all ducked inside. There seemed to be some debate as to what to do. Eddie was, by all accounts, a heavy sleeper. Bucky tried just rocking him a bit, but it didn't really seem to work. Marty had a more unorthodox suggestion:

"Why don't you just bark at him or something?"

"Do foxes even bark? I think that's wolves." Andy wondered out loud.

And before I could even open my mouth to explain anything, Charlie cut in.

"Foxes can bark, growl and howl, much like wolves, but in a higher pitch."

"Right…what he said. Honestly, what is the deal with you and foxes?" I asked.

Charlie just shrugged it off and mumbled something that sounded quite similar to _'I don't know'_.

"Well, can you do it then?" Marty still insisted.

"Why do I have to do it? It'd have the same effect as you screaming in his ear!"

"Yeah, but it's a lot funnier if he thinks he's in danger."

"How would a bark make him think he's in danger?"

"I mean, isn't that the noise foxes make when hunting? He's asleep, instinct will probably kick in."

"How the hell would I know? Do I _look_ like I go hunting?"

"Well no… But aren't you a fox?"

"So?"

"Foxes growled while hunting, they didn't bark. Barking would alert the animal to their presence. In prehistoric times, that is, before both rabbits and foxes evolved. As such, insinuating that a fox should know how to hunt simply because their prehistoric counterparts did is _not_ okay. Show some respect." Charlie explained, giving Marty a disapproving look.

Marty responded by getting down on his knees and clearing his throat before continuing:

"Oh, great Lieutenant James _Whatever-your-middle-name-is_ Barkley, I beg of thee: will thou please mimic the behavior of thy ancestors all those years ago for the noble cause of scaring the shit out of our bombardier?" Marty asked with an overly-dramatic tone, maintaining a worried look on his face throughout the whole thing and afterwards. I gotta admit, he was surprisingly good at acting.

"Ugh…fine. But only because you asked so nicely."

"Thank you, oh great one, I am forever in your debt!" Marty all but yelled as he hugged my midsection. Really committed to this act, aren't you?

"Yeah, yeah, whatever." I said, prompting him to let go and return to his normal self, smirk and all. "What am I supposed to do again, Charlie?"

"Growl." Charlie replied rather matter-of-factly.

"Right, that."

I crawled inside and stopped next to where Eddie was sleeping. Honestly, the things I do for these guys… Just inches from Eddie's ear, I let out the deepest growl I could, which turned out a lot louder than I expected. The result was less than glamorous as Eddie jumped six feet in the air and hit his head on the lamp that hung from the top of the tent before landing on his ass. I'll admit, it was pretty funny until I actually saw the look on his face. He sat there a while, panting heavily, looking absolutely terrified. I wasn't exactly smiling anymore. His eyes seemed to move back and forth between me and the bunch of rabbits at the 'door'.

"What…the fuck…just happened?" Eddie managed to ask, still panting.

"Sorry about that, was the only way we could get you to wake up." Bucky explained.

"But…what _was_ that? I heard…"

"Growling, yes, it would appear our dear co-pilot was persuaded to revisit some old talents."

"Jimmy… what the fuck?"

"I-I didn't think you'd be _that_ scared, man. I'm sorry." I apologized as best I could. I guess I'll have to make it up to him later. I never thought of myself as the scary type... It's a weird feeling.

"Look, it was all just a little joke. Marty, since it was your idea and you defended it oh-so-admirably, how's about you buy Eddie a nice lunch?" Bucky proposed.

"You can't be serious…" Marty voiced his disbelief

"Well, we can't have bad blood between crewmates, now can we? Oh, and pay for Jimmy's as well, he doesn't seem to have enjoyed the experience all that much either."

"For Jimmy's too? Jeez, I might as well pay for the whole crew!"

"Well, if you insist…"

"Insist on what?"

"You hear that, Andy? Marty's paying for everybody!"

"You do realize I was joking, right?"

"Going back on your word so soon?"

"I'm not going back I'm just-"

"Splendid, then we all agree! Where are we going?"

"I don't know, the mess hall?"

"That could work, but I find that the food there is too _'free'_ for my taste. How about some place where you actually have to pay for your food?"

"The Hare?"

"The Hare it is then!"

"I could eat, I guess…" Eddie seemed to be feeling somewhat better.


	9. Words To Live By

"Wait, I'm confused, why would Jimmy do that to Eddie?"

Just about the first thing to come out of Marty's mouth when we entered Hopper's hospital room was tell him about what just happened between me and Eddie. Well, _his version of it_ , anyway.

"No idea, I told him not to, but he insisted!"

"You talked him into it, didn't you?" Hopper asked, looking dead serious.

"Absolutely, 100%. You should've seen his face, man, priceless."

"Nope, 'priceless' is what I'd use to describe lunch today, seeing as Marty's paying." Bucky quipped.

"Yeah…thanks for reminding me…" Marty was not amused.

"I mean, I'd love to join you guys, but these folks _insist_ that I stay here. I've only been here one night and I'm already sick of hospital food."

"Your standards certainly seem high for someone who has to deal with military rations…" Marty stated matter-of-factly.

"Have you _tried_ the food in this place? Trust me, you'll be _begging_ for rations afterwards."

"If you say so, skip…"

"Anyway, what else is new? Anyone check on the bird yet?"

"Haven't had the time, really, but I plan on doing that soon." I joined the conversation, a bit late. "Maggie said she filmed our landing yesterday, so I'm gonna study that to see what I did wrong."

"Maggie?"

"Oh, yeah, Barkley hooked up with Andy's sister. Didn't I mention that?" Gee, thanks, Marty.

"Oh… _that_ Maggie. I mean, that's a little weird, but to each their own, right?"

I had no response to that. They're just gonna tease me more if I deny it, right?

"Anyway, I'm glad you mentioned that landing. Fellas, you mind if I have a little chat with Jimmy? Alone."

As everyone else filed out of the room, I couldn't help but get a sinking feeling. I mean, I know my landing wasn't great. Hell, if I turned the yoke any more the wing would've hit the ground. In fact, there was a lot I should have done different. Hopper seemed to notice my anxiety:

"You okay over there? I get the feeling you're not really all here…"

"Sir, about my landing, I know that it wasn't the best but I promise I'll-"

"Don't worry about it."

"…What?"

"Look, there's two ways you can look at it: You can either say you made a few mistakes…"

"Or…?"

"Or you can say that you managed to stop the plane safely in spite of that. Kid, the way I see it, any landing you can walk away from is a good one. And, seeing as how we're both still alive, I'd say you've got that covered."

"That's uhm…Thanks, I guess?"

"You're quite welcome. Any plans for the day off?"

"The guys want to head into town, I think I might pass on that and just hang around the base a while."

"Don't."

"Sir?"

"Don't stay at the base."

"…why not?"

"Kid, what would you say is the job of a bomber pilot?" He can't be serious, can he?

"Uhm, fly the plane and bring it back in one piece?"

"Nope, that's only _part_ of your job." Hopper, buddy, you're confusing the shit out of me.

"...What else is there?"

"You have to be a brother, a father, a friend, all at once. You have to take care of everyone on that plane. You need to be willing to take a bullet for any of them and they need to be willing to take a bullet for you.

"Look, you already got the ball rolling, you made a good first impression, but you have to keep that momentum going. They wanna take a jeep into town? Go with them. They wanna go to a bar and spend all night getting shitfaced? By god, get shitfaced with them. Take every single opportunity you can to bond with those guys and to just unwind. This is a war, Jimmy, you're gonna need some good memories to balance out the bad ones and trust me, there will be plenty of bad ones. I guess what I'm saying is: Go out there and spend some time with them, 'cause the truth is any of those guys could be dead tomorrow, and when they are, you'll regret not giving them the time of day."

I tried to speak but the words just don't come out…that was just…

"That got a bit dark at the end there, didn't it? Sorry. Look, just go into town with them and try to enjoy your day off, alright?"

"Yes, sir." I saluted.

"Atta boy! Dismissed." He said, returning the salute before laughing the whole thing off.

Hopper's words were… unnerving, to say the least, but I suppose he had a point. If I don't actually try to spend time with any of those guys, I doubt they'd try and spend some with me. And all I really had planned for today was drawing, which I can do later. Plane's not going anywhere. That and I've never actually been to Bunny Burrow. Closest I ever got was looking out the window when they first flew me in. And hey, who knows, maybe this'll be good for me. Besides, it's not like I'm missing out on anything by not staying here. I caught up with the guys just outside of the building that housed the squadron commander's office.

"So, Bunny Burrow?" I asked.

Marty turned towards me, looking completely devastated.

"Jimmy, I hate to be the one to tell you this but… I'M DRIVING!" He yelled at the top of his lungs, jiggling the keys in his paw. Can't believe I was actually worried.

"Like hell you are!" Bucky took charge, quickly taking the keys away from Marty. "Last time you almost had us wrapped around a lamppost!"

"The keyword there is _almost_. Besides, that was weeks ago!"

"That was _three days_ ago! And I'd much rather be _alive_ to claim my free lunch, thank you very much."

"Fine, but I call sh-"

"SHOTGUN!" Eddie yelled before Marty could.

"Goddammit! What the hell, Eddie?" Marty was visibly pissed.

"It's called payback, buddy!" Eddie smirked.

"Man, I never get to do anything!"


	10. Fox In The Burrows

"That wasn't so bad, now was it?" Bucky asked a very glum looking Marty.

"Are you kidding me? You guys spent _all_ of my money! And I know for a _fact_ that neither you nor Eddie usually eat that much. At least Jimmy was considerate enough to eat less."

Charlie opened his mouth to say something, but Marty seemed to guess what he had to say:

"Yeah, yeah, slower metabolism or whatever. My point still stands."

We were standing just outside of the Hassled Hare, a small pub near the edge of town we had just eaten at. Wasn't a long drive from the base, 30 minutes give or take. The town itself was bigger than I expected. Sure, there weren't any skyscrapers, but most of the buildings did go up to 4 floors, the Hare being no exception. The streets were all pretty narrow though, could probably only fit two cars, and those would have to be rabbit sized cars. No surprise there, it being a town designed by rabbits for rabbits. Speaking of rabbits, there weren't as many as I expected. Most were probably out there in the frontlines doing the fighting. One in particular did catch my attention, as I saw a familiar looking reflection on the dark tinted windows of the Hare. I turned around and there she was, heading into a shop just across the street. I wonder what she'd be doing here. I should probably pop in and say hello. A small little bell rang as I opened the door and walked into the shop. She was standing by the counter, hadn't seen me yet.

"Fancy seeing you here, Miss Hopkins." Oh my god did that sound cheesy. Still, I could see a small smile as she turned around to face me.

"Afternoon, Lieutenant. Wasn't expecting to see you here. What brings you into town?"

"Oh, plane's still in for repairs, so the fellas and I figured we'd spend the day here. You?"

"Getting you that film roll I promised."

For the first time since entering, I actually took a look around. Sure enough, the store was filled with photography and film related stuff. How did I not notice that before?

"Don't they do that for you at the base?"

"Ha! You think the Air Force would spend any money on this type of stuff? They can barely afford anything since they have to keep replacing your planes every few weeks. Hell, they can't even afford to build proper barracks!"

"Wait, is _that_ why we have to sleep in tents?"

I didn't get a reply as a pig came from a door in the back, staring down at a clipboard:

"Everything's set up, miss Hopkins, I'll let you know when the process is finished. Now, if there's anything else I can do for…you…" Said pig seemed to freeze, a look of pure shock on his face. He seemed like he wanted to say something, but nothing came out. I'm guessing he's never seen a fox before.

"That'll be fine, Henry. That film roll's just about all I need." Maggie didn't seem to notice. "I suppose you will be getting back to your friends now, isn't that right, Lieutenant?"

"What?"

She nodded her head towards the front of the store where, sure enough, a group of very familiar bunnies had their faces glued to the window. She waved, leading all of them to scatter.

"Yeah, I guess I should head back… Gotta keep them out of trouble."

"Good luck with that. I do hope to see you again soon, Lieutenant. Oh, and say hi to Andy for me."

"Will do."

I walked out to find my crew trying their very best to seem nonchalant. They were failing miserably, but the effort was still there. Smooth, guys, _real smooth_. Once the awkwardness died down a little, we decided to catch a movie. We did still have the rest of the day off, after all. The local theater seemed to be showing a war movie about a raid that went down two years earlier.

Before the movie could start, there was a brief war bulletin showing the progress made by the boys in the frontlines and the contribution of the medium bomber squadrons stationed further East. Makes me wonder what happened after our raid yesterday. Did we actually hit the target? I don't remember anyone saying so, and we didn't take any pictures. I guess we'll find out soon enough. As for the movie itself, it was pretty good. It followed a bomber pilot as he and his friends volunteered for a top secret mission. At the same time, he also had to worry about his pregnant wife and the consequences of taking on such a dangerous task. Charlie mentioned that it was based on a book, so I'll have to remember to pick up a copy later.

Just as the movie ended, we went back to the Hassled Hare for some drinks. Or they did, at least. Whatever happened last night, I don't really want to make drinking a habit. Besides, they'll need someone to drive the jeep back, right? After having a few, Marty had quite a different proposition:

"Foxy, you and me, drinking contest, right now."

"No thanks."

"Why, scared that I'll beat you?"

"I know for a fact you'd beat me."

"You could actually win though." Charlie whispered. "Slower metabolism means it's gonna take a lot longer for the alcohol to have any effect on you. As such, it doesn't really matter whether you drink more than him or not: It's about endurance. Play your cards right and Marty'll black out before you even finish your first beer."

"It's not about that though, I don't drink. Besides, doesn't someone have to drive us back to base?"

"Yeah, and you're looking at him. Look, the whole ' _I don't drink'_ attitude doesn't really work here. We're at war: sooner or later you're gonna see something you won't be able to forget and when that happens, you'll need a drink. Besides, I have it on fairly good authority that you already broke that rule last night so…"

"Charlie, quit distracting him!" Marty all but shouted. I get the feeling he's drunk already. Hell, I might be able to win without even drinking half a bottle. "So, are we gonna do this or what? 5 bucks to the winner!"

"You're not gonna leave me alone until I say yes, are you?"

"Now you're getting it! So, are you in?"

"I get you to stop bugging me and 5 bucks, so sure, I'm in."

Apparently I was very wrong about how much Marty could drink. Which means that I ended up having to drink more, since I could only stop after he did. _Eight bottles!_ We finished at least _eight_ bottles each! Granted, they were rabbit sized bottles (Which looked pretty funny in my paws given how tiny they were), but still, _eight_ _bottles!_ Things were getting kinda hazy by the time I finished my fourth. Even hazier by the eighth. Marty did straight up collapse a few minutes later, so I guess I won? The conversation seemed to have changed topics though:

"I'll bet you none of those guys know how to actually fly a plane." Andy exclaimed.

"Why should they? They're actors, not pilots. Besides, it's not like _you_ know how to fly a plane." Bucky replied.

"Well, I'm not pretending to know how to fly, now am I?"

"Even if they did know how to fly, they couldn't show it. We can't very well let just anyone see how to fly our planes, there could be spies in the theater. That's why they always make those cockpit shots dark, so that you can't see what they're doing. Not that they're actually bothering to hit the right switches. It's like how they get a hand double whenever they need a shot of one of the actors playing the piano." Charlie explained.

"Yeah, really bugs me when I can tell they're not actually hitting the right notes." Eddie joined the conversation.

"How do you know that?" I asked, genuinely curious.

"I play the piano. 5 years' worth of lessons." Eddie rather proudly declared.

"Well then, play us a song then, piano man!" Bucky encouraged.

Eddie finished his beer before moving over to the piano placed in the back of the room. He sat down and pulled the microphone closer, before he started playing a riff I was all too familiar with. Eddie began to sing and I'll admit, he had a pretty good singing voice:

 _Should old acquaintance be forgot_

 _And never brought to mind?_

 _Should old acquaintance be forgot_

 _And old lang syne?_

What sounded like most of the bar joined in for the chorus and hell, how could I not?

 _For auld lang syne, my dear_

 _For auld lang syne_

 _We'll take a cup of kindness yet_

 _For auld lang syne_

The song went on, and I guess it's been a while since I've last sung it, cause I did not remember any of the lyrics after the first chorus. Or maybe it was the alcohol. After Eddie was done, he was met by a round of drunken applause. He bowed before walking back to the table. We had a few more drinks and things seemed to get hazier and hazier after that.


	11. Hungover

The trumpet wakeup call startled me to the point of falling off the bed. Not a very graceful landing, as now my arms, legs and tail hurt. As did my head. The ground was also rather cold. Guess now I know how Eddie felt yesterday. I really should find a proper way to apologize to him.

"How was your night, vulpine?" Bucky asked, his voice rather cheery.

"Why…are you rhyming…how can you even think this early in the morning? Oh, right, you woke up like half an hour ago."

"Bingo. How's the hangover?"

"Everything hurts and I just want to go back to sleep…"

I tried to crawl back into bed, but even lifting my head was already causing me a lot of pain, so I stuck with the ground.

"Yeah, that's how it usually goes…"

"What even happened last night?"

"What do you remember?"

"A drinking contest with Marty and _Auld Lang Syne_ , but that's about it. How did I even get back here?"

"We carried you. Same goes for Marty as well. You also howled. More than once, actually. I don't know why, you didn't explain it last night, but you did make it clear that it was very important that you howl right then and there."

I finally managed to crawl back onto the bed and sit, keeping my head low to ease the pain. Bucky seemed like he wanted to say something, but we were interrupted by a rabbit in uniform, who quickly stood at attention.

"Lieutenants Barkley and O'Hare?"

Bucky and I saluted back, struggling to even keep my head up as I did.

"Mikey, I told you to just call me 'Bucky', we're all friends here. Just relax."

"Yes, sir-I mean _Bucky_." The guy talked so fast it would've been a miracle if he didn't trip over his words.

"There we go. Mikey, this is Jimmy." Bucky continued, gesturing towards me. "Jimmy, this is Mikey."

The young officer just stood there for a while, a nervous look on his face. At least he was trying to act like he wasn't scared, but he still reeked of fear. That and he couldn't stop his nose from twitching either.

"It's alright, he won't bite. That look just means he's got a massive headache."

Mikey took a deep breath and offered his paw, which I shook. I tried my best to put on a friendly smile. Not too sure I succeeded though. With how much my head hurt, I didn't really care either.

"Ol' Mikey here's the fastest guy on the field, so they send him around to deliver all the important memos. Cigarette?" Bucky said, holding out a pack.

"Thanks!" The young rabbit said, eagerly taking one and lighting it. "So, I take it you guys were up at the Hare last night?"

"You know it! And this guy right here beat Marty at a drinking contest."

"No way, the king's been dethroned?"

"Not that hard when you weigh four times as much…" I explained.

"Hey, still counts." Bucky said, before turning towards Mikey. "So, what's the message this time?"

"Come again?" Mikey's eyes suddenly widened. "Oh, right, the message! We've got a mission today. My plane's in for repairs, so I'll be flying with you guys as co-pilot. The old man wants all crews at the briefing room by 0600 hours."

"Isn't our plane busted too?" I asked.

"That's the thing about paddlefeet, they work twice as hard!" Bucky replied, with his usual smirk.

"Paddlefeet?"

"Ground crews, Jimmy." Bucky explained, before turning to Mikey, who was just standing in the corner. "Mikey?"

"Yeah?" He asked, being suddenly brought back to reality.

"Shouldn't you warn the _other_ crews as well?"

"Oh, right!" The young rabbit immediately snapped back into work mode. "I'll see ya later, sir- _Bucky_! Oh, and nice meeting you, Jimmy!"

Bucky and I watched as Mikey dashed out of the tent, moving onto the next one.

"Good kit. Good pilot, too. Should maybe cut down on the caffeine. Speaking of which, _we_ better get breakfast. Some coffee will do wonders for that little condition of yours."


	12. Paddlefeet

Coffee did help, at least a little. I didn't eat much, opting instead to visit the maintenance hangar so that I could check on the plane. Walking in, there was almost no sign of the holes that had littered the nose & cockpit sections. Even the windscreen seemed brand new! Probably because it _was_ brand new, the old windscreen being too far gone. I was moving to check on engine number 3 when I heard someone call out:

"Sir, anything I can do ya for?"

I turned to see an incredibly short rabbit holding a clipboard, his uniform covered in oil stains.

"Yeah, sorry, was just checking up on the plane."

"May I ask why?"

"Uhm… I'm the copilot."

"I've never seen you before." His eyes seemed to narrow a bit. "When did you get in?"

"Two days ago." I went through my pocket and eventually found my ID, which I then showed him. "Lt. James Barkley, serial number 09861624, assigned to aircraft 42-35407."

The rabbit's eyes widened as he looked at the document.

"Oh, sorry, Lieutenant, they didn't tell me we had a fox flyer!"

He hurriedly went through the pages on his clipboard, before stopping on one and looking at me with a nervous smile. Well, at least he isn't scared of me for being a fox, just for being a higher ranking officer.

"We uhm… We patched up the holes in the nose section and replaced the windows in the cockpit section. Your crew also seems to have reported an engine failure, is that correct?"

"Yeah, we lost number 3 about 15 minutes from the target."

"Well, we took a look at it and we… we ran some ground tests, but we… it's funny, actually… we couldn't find a thing wrong!"

"That's weird…"

"Yes! It is, isn't it?" Poor guy was so nervous he couldn't stop shaking. Someone else seemed to notice that, as a taller rabbit with brown spots on his white fur stepped up.

"Pete, what do you say you go check on the hydraulic lines on 396? I'll take it from here."

"Yes, sir!" The poor fella handed him the checklist and ran off.

"What seems to be the problem, Lieutenant?"

"Well, we had some engine trouble on our last mission."

"Yes, I can see that. Says here on the report that your number 3 cut out at 20,000 ft, is that correct?"

"Yes, sir."

"Don't call me 'sir', you outrank me, Lieutenant. As a matter of fact, I should be calling you 'sir'. Now, what else can you tell me? Speed, air temperature, the whole jazz."

"We were going at regular formation speed, 242 indicated. I don't know how cold it was."

"Uh-hum…" He took some notes before looking at me again. "Now, were there any signs beforehand? Any odd noises, strange vibrations, any sudden changes in gauge behavior?"

"I uhm… I wasn't looking." I found myself staring at the ground. What kind of pilot can't keep track of a few gauges?

"I see… Not to worry, happens to the best of us… It also says that there were 5 attempts to restart the engine almost immediately after it cut out. Can you confirm that?"

"Yes, sir…I mean…"

"Rabbit. Thomas Rabbit, Chief Mechanic. Yes, that is my actual name, I know. Now, I suppose it's safe to say that those attempts failed, seeing as you landed on three engines."

I nodded.

"Right. Well, according to your navigator's report, you flew back at only 9,000 ft. Were any attempts to restart the engine made during that time?"

"No, it… It kinda slipped my mind." I said, scratching my head a bit. Shit, why didn't _I_ think of that? Would've made landing a hell of a lot easier too!

"Perfectly understandable… Right, so there were no attempts to restart at low altitude, and if anything showed up on the gauges, no one in the crew saw it… No signs of anything wrong on the engine itself either, so I'm thinking it just choked. These engines do that every now and then. Should be good to go. Though I do recommend you and your crew can run some tests on it before takeoff, just to be safe."

"Alright, I'll… I'll do that. Thanks."

"No problem. Oh, and Lieutenant? Give 'em hell for me, will ya?"

"I'll tell 'em Rabbit sent his regards... As well as a few 500-pounders, of course!" I joked as I walked away.


	13. Operation Wild Times

After my chat with the chief mechanic, it was time for the pre-flight briefing. Entering the room, I sat down with Bucky, Mikey and Eddie, the last of which still seemed to be dealing with the consequences of last night. Or, as Bucky put it:

"You look like shit, Ed."

"I feel like shit. Here's hoping we get a milk run so I can go back to sleep soon."

Soon enough the briefing officer took his place at the podium, all of us saluting before slumping back into our seats.

"Gentlemen, before we begin today's briefing, our squadron commander would like to say a few words. Major?"

The squadron commander then got up and walked up to the stage. The first thing I noticed was that he appeared to have red fur! That, together with yellow eyes, was certainly unusual for a rabbit. His walk was calm, and his smile relaxed. We all stood up (again) to salute him, before sitting back down.

"Alright, everybody, I'd like to start this off by giving a proper welcome to our newest recruits: Lieutenants Lucas Appleby, James Barkley and George Lapin. Gents, welcome to the 17th, the best damn squadron in the entire Army Air Force. Now, with that out of the way, onto business:"

"Today's mission is of utmost importance: It marks the beginning of Operation "Wild Times", during which we'll be working along with the boys on the ground. Our role will be the continued bombing of Axis airfields near the frontlines. However, we will focus on destroying aircraft and machine guns emplacements _only_. After each run, ground forces will move to capture said bases. Assuming we do our jobs right, they should have no trouble doing that. Said airfields will then be used as bases for light bombers, so that the ZAAF can provide air support for any mission within a moment's notice. Some of these will also be used as fighter bases, so we might be getting fighter cover in the future."

"I will be leading the flight today and we'll be using all of our available aircrews to make sure that we don't leave anything on the ground that can shoot at our boys. Some crews will be mixed up for this mission, seeing as not all of our aircraft are currently operational, so be sure to check the flightboard on your way out. Now, Major Richards, you may continue your briefing."

And with that, he left the stage and sat back down. The rabbit at the back of the room turned out the lights and turned on the projector. A photograph of an airfield became visible on the screen. The briefing officer began:

"Now, as Major Morris has explained, we will be bombing out frontline airfields for the following weeks. As such, you won't be over enemy territory for too long, so there should be no fighter opposition. Nevertheless, be prepared for light to moderate flak. Remember to wear your helmets and your flak jackets. I don't wanna hear any bullshit about them being ' _too heavy'_ or ' _itchy'_ , you can either wear the jacket or you can get shot up, it's your choice. Your main target should be parked aircraft, anti-aircraft guns and ammo dumps. _DO NOT_ hit the fuel stores. We can use that fuel and I don't think I need to remind any of you just how expensive that stuff is."

He signaled the rabbit in the back to turn the lights back on and the projector off, before pointing at the oh-so-familiar map of Bunny Burrow and the surrounding areas, again with the red line of string showing us our route, and a dotted line marking the frontlines.

"Given the improved performance during the last mission, you'll again be flying at 20,000 ft, following a heading of 0-5-8 until you reach the IP here." He pointed to a small pin that marked a turn in the red line of string. "You'll then turn to heading 0-4-5 and start your bomb run. You'll drop your bombs here, approximately 15 minutes later. After confirming that the drop was indeed accurate, you'll fly 3-1-5 for about 10 minutes to get some distance from the target, then you will turn to a heading of 2-2-7 back home. In total, the entire mission should take 2 hours and 40 minutes. Takeoff will be at 0800, so we expect you to drop your bombs at 0915, and you should be back here at 1040. There's light cloud cover over the mountains, but none over the target as far as intel goes. Are there any questions?"

No one spoke up.

"None? Great. Now, I do have to bring your attention to a few policy changes. First off, due to concerns over depressurization, at least one crew member will be required to wear an oxygen mask at all times in each compartment. You are also not, I repeat, _not_ to dive if depressurization occurs, but instead to maintain altitude so as to keep fuel consumption down. I don't care if any of you are cold, I don't care if anyone's hurt. There's enough oxygen in those tanks to keep all of you alive and well for hours. There were also changes to your radio callsigns, due to complaints from crews and tower controllers alike. As such, your callsign will now be whatever word is assigned to that letter on the tail of your plane by the 1941 phonetic alphabet followed by the last 3 digits of your serial number, so be sure to alert your radio operators. It's now time to synchronize your watches. It'll be 6:28 in about 40 seconds."

The watches the ZAAF gave us had a pretty nifty synchronization feature. Basically, you could stop your watch, set it to the desired time, then unpause it. As such, we all set our watches to 6:28 and waited for the callout from the briefing officer to unpause them.

"Coming up in 5… 4… 3… 2… 1… and sync. You are now dismissed, gentlemen."

After briefing was done, we walked toward the flightline, finding the rest of the crew waiting by the left main gear. Marty, sitting atop the inner tire, was the first one to see us, a smile quickly forming on his face.

"Ayyyyyy! If it isn't Lieutenant Howley!" He said, the cigar in his mouth making the words a bit harder to make out

"Lieutenant what?" I asked, as I moved closer and began the visual inspection of the plane.

"Howley. I figured it was more fitting, since we've never really heard you _bark._ "

"So what's that have to do with… Oh, _Howl_ -ey, har har… How do you even know about that anyway? I remember you passing out on the table _way_ before that."

"Charlie told me."

" _Why_ would you do that?" I asked Charlie, who seemed to freeze in his tracks about halfway through climbing into the plane.

"Was I not supposed to?" He asked with a very confused look on his face. "It's a normal thing for foxes, isn't it? Oh shit, it isn't?"

"Well uh… It's a little... Forget about it, let's just go."

"Whatever you say, Mister Howley." Marty said, sliding off the landing gear with a shiteating grin.

Bucky began briefing the rest of the crew as Mikey and I climbed aboard. I let Andy know about the callsign change and it didn't take him too long to go through the phonetic alphabet and find ours:

"Ah, okay, that was a good one. You really had me for a second there."

"Come again?" I asked, crouching through the small doorway at the back of the cockpit.

"Come on, you can stop the act now. This whole callsign thing, it's a joke, right?"

"No, the squadron commander was pretty clear. Why, what's ours?"

Andy was still smiling in a way that just said 'come on, I get the joke, can you be serious now?'. He was pretty disappointed when all he got were confused stares from me and Mikey.

"This...this is real then? Talk about coincidences. Tower, this is Fox-407 doing a radio check, over."

"Fox-407, this is tower, we read you loud and clear, over."

As Andy finished the radio checks, Mikey climbed into the cockpit behind me.

"So, you want the left seat or the right?" I asked.

"I'll take the right, I'd rather handle the engines. If that's okay with you, that is, sir." He answered, not taking a single second to breathe, nose still twitching rapidly, still reeking of fear.

"Alright, if you say so."

As I buckled in, I could hear a jeep pulling up. A familiar doe waved towards me, moving to stand up at the back of the jeep, now parked in front of engine number 2.

"Excuse me, Lieutenant?" She had to shout for me to even hear anything over the sounds of the other planes starting their engines. "Do you mind if I take your picture? For the folks back home, that is! I figured we should have a picture of the first fox flyer at work!"

Maybe it was that quick, almost bashful correction, or the fact that she couldn't stop blushing, or maybe just that little smile she had on her face. Whatever it was, I couldn't help but find something about her completely adorable. My smile was inevitable as I gave her a quick thumbs up for the photo. After taking the picture, she climbed back down into the driver's seat.

"Thanks, Lieutenant! See you after your mission!" She shouted as she drove off.

And with that, I turned my attention back to the cockpit, only to find Mikey staring at me in complete confusion. The plane fell silent for a while. I could see Eddie and Andy exchanging glances in the radio room. Someone had to bring an end to the awkward silence, and for once that someone was me. I cleared my throat before starting down the checklist. That seemed to snap Mikey back into work mode, as he began reporting the status of every item I called out. As we finished all the pre-start checks, the moment of truth came. Mikey held the starter for engine number 3 and shoved the mixture lever into position as soon as it fired. The engine picked up speed, right before stopping again. Eddie's voice came on the intercom:

"Darn, she's not starting, guess we're not going then. And I was so excited too… Oh well, see you guys at the pub." Eddie said, unbuckling his seatbelt and starting to move towards the exit hatch.

"I'm not giving up on her just yet. Mikey, give her another shot."

The engine slowly turned through a little over 3 rotations before roaring to life.

"Well whoopty-fucking-doo!" Eddie 'celebrated', with a look of defeat on his face as he climbed back into his seat.

Mikey and I started the rest of the engines with no issues and started taxiing behind the rest of the planes. We were 6th in line for take off. As we finished the last turn, passing just in front of the control tower, the officer on the balcony held up a flare gun and fired it skyward. As the bright red light started to fall back down, the first plane began its takeoff roll, quickly followed by the second and third. When the fifth began moving as well, I gave Mikey a quick nod.

"Here we go, boys!" I said, slowly pushing the throttles to full power as Mikey did the same with the turbos.


	14. Through Fighters and Flames

The plane was cruising normally as far as I could tell, and the flight had been uneventful. Well, except for the fact that Mikey seemed to flinch every time I moved my arm. His eyes seemed to almost constantly dart between the gauges and my claws. He denied being scared when I brought it up, but his nose never stopped twitching. Everything was pretty quiet, with only Bucky occasionally giving headings and ETAs over the intercom. Andy eventually piped up:

"Y'know, it's funny…"

"What is?" I asked.

"She saw you… she took your picture even… yet she didn't say a word to me…"

"Well… maybe she didn't see you."

"Yeah… maybe…"

"Or maybe she likes him better than you." Marty interrupted. "Maybe it's like a thing for her."

" _Shut up,_ Marty." Andy warned.

"Yeah, I bet she's into preds. I'll bet you claws turn her on or something like that."

"Shut. Up. Now."

"Or you know what? Maybe it's the _teeth!_ Yeah, it's gotta be the teeth. She probably _wants_ him to bite her."

"Pretty please, shut your fucking mouth."

"Come on, man, stop." I tried to diffuse the situation.

"Say, Andy, what's it like having a preddo for a sister?"

As Marty's laughter filled the intercom, I turned towards Andy, being barely able to see him past the armoured bulkhead in the back of the cockpit. I hadn't seen him angry before and looking at him now, I kinda wish I never had. He was shaking, the fury clear in his eyes and… then in a moment it was all gone. He took a deep breath before replying:

"Well, it could be a lot worse… She could be dating you!"

The cabin erupted in laughter in less than two seconds, Marty's protests being barely audible by comparison. Even Mikey seemed to chuckle a bit, which was a welcome break from his earlier paranoia.

"And I thought rabbits couldn't go savage!" Eddie all but shouted after catching his breath.

The cabin fell into a comfortable silence for a short while. I took some time to admire the view as we crossed the coastline, the blues of the ocean being replaced by sandy beaches, which were quickly replaced themselves by green fields. It was a nice moment. Until I heard Andy on the radio:

"Sir, we've got company! Squadron lead's reporting six bandits dead ahead!"

"Shit… Alright, fellas, man your guns back there!"

No more than 5 seconds after I pressed the switch to turn on the electrical power for the turrets, Bucky made the first callout on the radio:

"Coming in, 12 o'clock high! Eddie, get out of the way!" He yelled as he squeezed past Eddie to reach the controls for the nose turret.

Looking up was a mistake. No words can describe what I felt right now, as I saw the small silhouette of an enemy fighter grow larger and larger. Then it started shooting, and the noise of its cannons was joined by that of Bucky's machine guns for a moment, before the plane screeched past and disappeared between the rest of the bombers behind us.

"Marty, 6 o'clock! Get him! Get him!" Andy yelled.

"He's out of range, I can't hit him until he makes another pass!"

"Shit!"

"Hang on, he's coming back around! Eat lead, you bastard!"

What I wouldn't give for all around visibility right now, I can't see anything behind me but the rest of this damn plane!

"I got him! I got the bastard!" Marty celebrated.

The crippled plane quickly came into view, passing just above the fuselage and banking hard, followed by a massive trail of white vapor, narrowly missing a bomber to our right.

"That's one down, where the hell are the other fi-"

Andy couldn't even finish his question before it was answered in the form of a shower of cannon rounds punching through the plane's skin.

"Shit! Masks on, fellas, looks like we're going unpressurized again." I warned over the intercom. Luckily, we were all already wearing our boots and gloves, and for me at least, it was only a matter of putting on my own mask. One thing was clear about these things: they were not designed for canines, or anyone with a long muzzle, really, since I could barely move my mouth while wearing them. Then again, I suppose I should be thankful that they even bothered to give me one that actually fits at all.

"Andy, you've got one coming in! 2 o'clock high!" Mikey warned, his voice sounding much more nasal due to the mask.

Once again, I couldn't see the fighter past all the controls that took up the space between the two rooftop windows, but I could hear the loud whine of the engine grow louder and louder.

"I see him, he's diving! Charlie, get ready down there, looks like he's going underneath us!"

"Where!? I can't see him!"

"2 o'clock!" Mikey shouted, right before the plane screeched past us, being briefly visible through the right window as it dove beneath the plane and came out on the other side. "No, 8 o'clock! He's passing on your 8 o'clock!"

"He's going too fast! Marty!"

"I see him, I see him, calm down." Marty replied. "Wait… Son of a… Shit! I lost him!"

"What do you mean you lost him!?" Eddie asked, panic filling his voice.

"I mean I don't see him, dumbass."

"Well fucking find him!"

Everything became unnervingly quiet as we searched for the fighter. Seconds felt like hours and the constant _tick-tick-tick-tick_ of my wristwatch was starting to drive me insane. Can no else hear this stupid noise? I'm sure everyone else also has one, how the hell are they staying so quiet? Charlie's sudden shout over the intercom quickly put an end to those thoughts and brought me back to reality:

"There he is! 5 o'clock! He's going after Nelson!"

"Well what the fuck are you waiting for? Shoot him!" Marty yelled.

"My turret doesn't go that far up! Fuck, he's just barely out of reach! Andy?"

"I'm on it!" Andy confirmed, turning the turret and opening fire. "I can't tell if I'm hitting him or not... Wait, wait! He's banking!"

"Did you get him?"

"I don't think so… can't see any damage. I'm guessing he's out of ammo."

"Well, at least that's one less to worry about."

And once again the plane became quiet enough for me to hear the damn ticking of my watch. That and Mikey's heavy breathing...Or was that my own? I couldn't tell anymore.

"Anybody got eyes?" I asked, still partly in panic mode.

"Negative, none." Andy replied.

"Looks like we're clear." Charlie added.

"How many did we get?" I asked, trying to get my breathing under control.

"Uh… Marty got one… I think Dice's gunner got one too… I think that's it." Charlie answered.

"How many did they get!?" Eddie asked, clearly still startled as well.

"Uh, let's see… 12, 13, 14… None, but they tore up Nelson's bird something fierce. That's a lot of smoke."

"And we've still got the flak to look forward to." Eddie added. "Great… Just great!"


	15. The Turning Point

The formation carried on peacefully after the fighters broke off. In fact, there was barely anything to suggest a fight had ever taken place. Even the once massive trail of black smoke from Nelson's number 1 was now gone, its fuel supply cut and its massive propeller feathered. He was slowly being left behind, which would certainly mean serious trouble for him if the fighters came back.

Even our plane felt the same as it did before. Despite the large number of bullet holes, cabin pressure seemed to remain almost the same and even the heating system was still working (though not at 100% capacity, of course). Charlie said something about the plane being able to handle it unless a window blew out or a massive shell exploded, and that the air should still be perfectly breathable. Nevertheless, you'd be hard-pressed to find any of us willing to take off our masks and test out his theory.

As for me, I kept my eyes on the gauges. Our airspeed was good and nothing seemed wrong as far as I could tell. Bucky called out a few ETAs over the radio over the next few minutes or so, and Marty and Charlie seemed to have a brief argument about what counted as a kill, but overall things were pretty calm.

Which is why I almost jumped off my seat when the flak started up. After the initial shock though, I found that it didn't really get to me as much as last time. I still remember being completely terrified not 3 days ago, and while nowhere near calm now, it didn't quite have the same impact on me. Funny that. Mikey seemed pretty worried all of a sudden and spoke up:

"Uh, sir? I think we've got a problem"

"What is it?"

"It's the-"

Mikey couldn't finish his sentence as a huge burst of flak made the plane lurch as violently as if it had jumped. That can't be good.

"...fuel indicator, sir." Mikey continued. "Right inboard tank, sir, take a look."

The plane had 5 different fuel indicators, one for the inboard tanks, one for the outboard ones and 3 for the extra tanks that could be installed in the bomb bays. Each had two different needles, pointing at the levels for the right and left tanks. Didn't take long to see what was wrong: the right inboard tanks were empty. I tried tapping the gauge a few times, to see if it responded.

"Shit. Bad calibration or…?"

"Could be nothing." Mikey responded. "Or it could be a fuel leak."

"I hope it's a fuel leak!" Eddie said over the intercom. "Maybe then we'll turn back. Go to the Hare, get a drink…"

A good pilot would be able to tell if the plane feels lighter than it should. If it did, then there was a leak. If it didn't, then it's just a bad gauge. The plane would also want to roll into whatever side was heavier, but this plane almost always seems to pull to one side or the other and that's throwing me off. There's one way to check though:

"Pilot to lower gunner, over. Charlie?"

"Lower gunner to pilot, I read you loud and clear."

"Listen, Charlie, would you do me a favor and look out the right window? See if there's some sort of trail or something."

As Charlie checked, I realized that even if he didn't see a fuel trail that wouldn't really mean much. If the gauge was correct, then there was nothing to leak anymore: all the fuel from those tanks would already be gone.

"Uh… I don't see anything, sir. There are a lot of holes on the top of the right wing though. Would be more surprised if there _weren't_ a leak."

"Oh thank god… Thank you, _you wonderful leaking piece of shit we call a_ 'self-sealing' _fuel tank,_ for ending our mission so much earlier!" Eddie started on the intercom, laughing nervously. "I'd say our job here's done. Bucky, give Jim a heading back to base, will ya?"

"I can't really do that unless _he_ requests it, buddy." Bucky replied. "Navigator to pilot, do you wanna head back or…?"

"I don't know. Mikey, what do you figure?"

"If, and that's _if_ the gauge is right, then we're missing around 28 gallons of fuel. We can keep going, but that's gonna put us right at the edge of our range, we'll only have around... let's see." He grabbed the small pilot's diary and began scribbling numbers onto it, all the time thinking aloud. "161 and a quarter divided by 4… times 3… add 12.1, take out 129… That can't be right…" He said, a look of disbelief on his face.

"What? How much fuel would it leave us with?"

He showed me the sheet he was scribbling on, all the calculations leading to a big '4' circled multiple times.

"4 gallons, it leaves us with 4 gallons. With the plane's average fuel burn, that's about 5 minutes of fuel in the reserve. It's cutting it pretty close, but it can be done. Of course, that's assuming we are even missing fuel in the first place and it's _not_ a faulty gauge."

"Jimmy? Please tell me we're turning back…" Eddie seemed to all but beg.

5 minutes. You can do a lot in 5 minutes, and if the wind's good, we might not even need them. Besides, it could just be a badly calibrated fuel gauge. But what if it isn't? What if the weather deteriorates? What if that damn engine fails again? That would mean kissing our chance of making it back goodbye, and all because I was too stupid to turn back. I can't risk that.

"Andy, notify squadron lead of our situation: that we are damaged, have a possible fuel leak and are aborting mission."

"Yes, sir." Andy replied.

I signaled Mikey for full throttle as I started the turn. Here's hoping this wasn't all for nothing.

"Yes! Jimmy, you son of a bitch, I love you!" Eddie shouted over the intercom. "Say, when we get back, who's up for a night on the town? We still haven't done a proper pub crawl, after all!"


	16. The Fuel Situation

I spent the whole flight back wondering if I had made the right decision, and trying to think of any way to figure out for sure whether there had been a leak or not. I thought about testing it out with fuel transfers, trying to figure it out from the trim values, but came up with nothing. Nothing useful, at least.

Mikey had opened the fuel crossfeed valve as soon as we turned back, to keep engine number 3 running (since the tank that fed it was now supposedly empty). Maybe shutting it off would give us our answer. I told Mikey about my idea, since communication is pretty key in situations like this. It wasn't exactly a risk-free plan:

If my hunch was right, then number 3 would keep running as normal, and prove that there was never a leak at all. If I was wrong, then we really had a leak and even worse, would be stuck with a dead engine, as number 3's already tricky to start on the ground, not to mention at 20,000 ft.

"So, what do you say?" I asked Mikey.

He seemed to pause for a second to think it over.

"It's definitely risky… if 3 doesn't come back on, we're gonna be burning a lot more fuel. Do you think we'd have enough to make it back?"

"I can't promise we will… Bucky, what do you figure?" The question was more suited to our navigator.

"On 4 engines, we should have enough. But on 3? Uh… if the wind helps, maybe? but we'd be cutting it pretty close." Bucky answered. "I'm not sure it's the best idea."

There was a silence for a bit. A lot was at stake, and we needed to weigh our odds very carefully. Mikey was the first to speak up:

"I'm willing to try it, if you think it's a good idea, sir." Great, everyone's fate rest is in my hands… shit

I gave Mikey the signal, and he turned the crossfeed handle into the 'off' position, also changing the settings on the fuel selectors on the overhead panel. I kept my eyes on the fuel flow indicators, and Mikey took care of the fuel gauge, to see if there was any change.

Time seemed to slow down as we sat there. I was once again very aware of the ticking of my wristwatch, and covered it with my sleeve to make it quieter. It didn't really seem to work. Tick-tock, tick-tock, every second bringing us closer to the moment of truth.

...What the FUCK am I doing? Am I really risking all of this just based on a hunch? FUCK, that engine is _definitely_ going to die. And when it does, we'll burn up all the fuel even faster, and we'll probably have to ditch at sea. And if we _somehow_ live through that, that's still days on a tiny raft, with a chance of never being found, just because I thought we 'probably didn't have a leak'. Shit, the engine just shuddered! FUCK, this is it, I reach for the fuel crossfeed controls and turn them back before the engine dies.

"What are you doing!?" Mikey asked.

"Saving us from myself!" I was finally able to answer, as I sank back into my chair, heart still beating rapidly. Fuck it, we'll figure it out after we land.


End file.
